


All That I Am

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-13
Updated: 2003-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris becomes what Lance makes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I Am

The whip strikes me, hitting hard on tender, unprotected skin. I can feel my flinch all the way to my center, and the low groan that eases up from the same. I can hear the whistle as he draws back and releases it again, and again, and still again.

Over and over, striking hard, fast, deep. I don't know how many times the whip cuts me; dozens, probably. After a time, all I'm aware of is the sound of my own voice echoing in my ears as I scream out my pleasure and pain, and the red-white-bright heat of pain and pleasure mingling together within me, creating a vortex that sucks me in and holds me fast.

The incredible sensation ceases for a moment, giving my lungs a chance to remember that I still need to breathe; giving my nerve endings a moment to feel the heat and electricity pouring through me. I can feel the liquid heat of blood and sweat sliding down my back, dripping over my bare thighs, hitting the tops of my feet. Immediately behind me, sliding up hard and hot, I feel him. His breath against my neck, his hands, ultra-sensitive along my shoulders. Touching the marks he's left, one long finger stroking over one that lies across my shoulder blade.

"You're so beautiful like this." His voice is thick in my ear; gritty and dark with his own need. I shudder both from the pain of his touch, and the joy his words bring, groaning when he presses harder, dark, hot pain swelling from the soft, damp center. I know what the marks look like without seeing them; I've seen them before: bruisedark, skin swollen and blushed, darker colors fading into light, red in the center, moist and sometimes wet. "So beautiful; arched and screaming, wanting me to take you just to the brink, then bring you back again." He traces over the newest ones he's left; it'll take days, easily, for all of them to fully heal and fade completely. I know there are still smudges here and there from the last time. A slow, wet heat covers the deepest one, nearer my side, just off from my shoulderblade, and I groan long and low at the touch of his tongue stroking over me, tasting my blood, my pain.

In this moment, all that I am is what he makes of me, what he makes me into.

~fin~


End file.
